In the Mist
by internallydeceased
Summary: In the Mist takes place in America in the mid 1800s. Jamie Fraser has left everything behind to start a new life, to get a second chance. This follows his discovery of a whole new world and discovering himself. And you never know who you'll meet along the way.
1. Prologue

The world was escaping the bitterness of winter and emerging into the blossom of spring. What was once covered in blankets of white, gave way to silent streams and grass that had been left dormant for three long months. The sun still disappeared early in the evening, kissing the sky with hues of purple and blue before fading into black. **  
**

Human civilization was steadily growing and expanding into the wilds of the New World. Taking away the natural beauty of life. But for now, only the wooden railroads ran among them.

The outside world moved quickly outside the frosted glass window of the train car. Most of the passengers were asleep now, but Jamie Fraser remained wide awake. He hadn't been there long, practically just arrived. The journey across the Atlantic was hardly tolerable, he spent nearly every minute of it with his head over a bucket.

But now he was on solid ground again, or would be. On the ship he often dreamed of the hills and moors he had lived among for so long in Scotland. He'd thought that life here would be much different, savage and harsh, as the rumors went.

Yet the vast wilderness and wildlife often reminded him of home, albeit much colder.

This place was a second chance, a fresh start. He took comfort in the thought, the only con being that he was on his own. There was no Jenny, no family, nor friends. No one he knew. This was the first time in his life that he was really, _truly_ alone.

* * *

He didn't remember falling asleep, but the overpowering smell of stale pipe smoke and the rising chatter of his fellow passengers had pulled him from sleep.

A short, slender man had taken a seat next to him, seeking pleasant conversation. He stood out from most of the other passengers, dressed in what could be assumed his Sunday best.

"Not long now. I can't wait to see my Charlotte again. It's been so long!" His lips curled into a smile underneath a graying moustache. "Do you have anyone waiting for you?" He sounded happy, hopeful. Ecstatic to finally be going home.

Jamie gave a faint smile and shook his head, "No, I'm on my own." He felt his heart sink in his chest as he thought about everyone he had left behind. The thought bringing on a new wave of grief and loneliness.

"Ah, a Scot! What brings you to America?" The man's joyful countenance never faded, and it only made Jamie long to feel the same.

How could he tell the man that he left to save his family? That the constant fighting between the English and the Scots had torn them apart? That he had no one but himself to rely on?

"Work." He lied. He turned to gaze at the dull browns and greens of the wheat fields that whizzed past them, wishing that they would swallow him whole.

The man smiled faintly, taking the hint that conversation was not wanted here.

Jamie let out a sigh once he was alone again, not realizing that he had been holding it.

The window fogged in reaction to the warm air against the cold glass, temporarily obscuring some of the view.

He couldn't wait until they reached their destination.

* * *

The man was right, it didn't take long before they came to a halt. People were lined outside the station, safe and happy in the embrace of their loved ones. They all had a home to go to, a place where they belonged. A purpose.

Jamie hardly had more than the clothes on his back. No place, no purpose, no destination. He hadn't the slightest idea what was to become of him, where he would go or who he would be. Nothing but the hope that everything would be alright in the end.

And it all began with a step.


	2. Nowhere in Particular

**Nowhere in Particular**

Most people had horses or wagons to get them from one place to the next, but all Jamie had to rely on were his own two feet. He was an avid horseman, and he had ridden and trained more horses than he could count. But here, he had few things of value and none of them would give him enough for a horse.

He didn't have any real destination, so he simply took a step, and then another. Eventually he stumbled onto what he assumed to be a main road. It was evident that many people came through there, based on the abundance of hoofprints and footsteps. He hoped that if he followed it long enough, he would come across some sort of community.

It was already dark when he left the station, and there was no telling what sort of danger lingered in the brush in daylight, let alone the dark. He walked until he found shelter in a hollow tree just off the main road. It wasn't much, but it was dry and he was well hidden from prying eyes. He hoped that it would also be enough to protect him from anything lurking in the shadows.

He was no stranger to living outdoors, but that was a place he knew well. He knew nothing of this place apart from what he'd seen in the short time he'd been here. This was a world of all new fauna, people, customs, and traditions.

He pulled the tartan from his pack and wrapped himself in it. The highlander way of life had been wiped out long before he was born, but highlander he was. The wearing of kilts had been outlawed in Scotland, but this was a whole new place. The whole purpose of people coming here was to live freely and the way that they wanted.

Still, he didn't want to draw attention to himself, already a stranger in strange place.

"One day." He smiled as he ran his fingers across the fabric, remembering all those he left behind.

He took solace in the night sky, small specks of light littered among the empty void. Proving that no matter what, there was light. That there would always be hope.

* * *

Black gave way gray, and the birds came to life in song, signaling the start of a new day.

The forest floor was shrouded in a heavy fog, reducing visibility to a minimum. Jamie would have to wait until it cleared just a bit before he resumed his journey.

But there was something there, barely visible.

He thought it must've been a squirrel making it's way from tree to tree, but the closer it came, the clearer it was.

It wasn't a thing, but a person. A woman.

She was dressed in a white garment that was hardly modest. Dark curls surrounded her head, as wild as the world around them. Her pale skin seemed to glow, just a bit. He couldn't make out her face, but he imagined it was just as perfect as the rest of her.

It looked as if she were dancing, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. Perhaps just happy to be alive.

And then just as quickly as she appeared, she vanished.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but there was nothing but the mist.

* * *

The fog had cleared, and once again Jamie was headed into an unknown future.

He couldn't help but think about the woman he saw in the early hours of the morning. Or if he had even seen her at all. Perhaps she had never even been there, and his mind made her up out of painful solitude.

What did it mean? Was it a sign? A vision? Or was being alone simply driving him mad?

Either way, she wasn't likely to leave his mind any time soon. He had no idea who she was or _what_ she was, but by God she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His heart fluttered as his mind wandered back to the moment when he'd seen her.

He shook his head, laughing at himself. "Yer a fool, Fraser."

* * *

After what felt like days of walking, Jamie finally, finally, found paradise. A small tavern with a few outbuildings surrounding it. He received many sideways glances and looks of disgust, but he was so tired and hungry he didn't care.

"What can I get you?" Came a soft voice from behind the bar.

"Anything that's edible." He laughed, while searching his pack for the little money he had left.

When she returned with his meal, he was so focused on the food, he hadn't even looked up.

But after a few bites he finally glanced at the hand that fed him, and nearly choked as a result.

 _It was her._

That morning, he hadn't even seen her face. But he was sure it was her.

"Are you alright?" She asked, trying her best not to laugh at his ridiculous face.

"Fine." He choked out, along with wet eyes and a red face.

 _It hasn't even been ten minutes and ye've already made a fool of yerself._

She crossed her arms and smiled as he took a swig of ale. "Good, It'd be a shame if you died without paying."

* * *

He had finished his supper long ago, and they were the only two who remained. She was everything he imagined her to be, and more. She was no ordinary woman, and with each passing minute, she only became more interesting. More beautiful. More perfect.

"So where are you headed?" She asked with her head propped in her hand.

"Nowhere in particular." He smiled as he gazed into deep amber eyes, losing himself in them. "To be honest, I haven't any place to go."

She frowned and paused, deciding whether or not to speak her mind.

"Well, I have an extra room upstairs. You're welcome to stay there until you figure it out." She hardly knew the man. He had come out of nowhere, resembling the lowliest of beggars. Yet there was something about him, something that drew her to him. He was handsome, and charming. There was no doubting that. But it was as if he didn't even know it. He was so kind and genuine, nowhere near the same as the other men that came through.

"I haven't anything to pay ye with!" He exclaimed, eyes wide. He never wanted to leave, but he wouldn't take advantage her like this.

"Well I can't let you just sleep in the dirt, can I?" She smiled and turned to clear away the mess of her departed patrons.

"Aye, ye could. I could be a killer for all you know." He quipped.

"Are you?" Her voice was steady, confident.

"No…" He mumbled.

"Then there's nothing to worry about." She flashed him a smile and motioned for him to follow her once everything had been put away.

He clenched his jaw, bit his tongue, and did as he was bid.

She lead him to the back of the tavern, up some stairs and stopped outside a large door. The room was small, but it had a bed and a fireplace, which was more than Jamie could have asked for.

"You can stay here until you have a place."

He stood there, completely dumbfounded.

"I have nothing to give ye." He tried again, he didn't want to impose. He had nothing to pay her with, and she was willingly giving him food and board. And to a stranger at that.

"You will." She smirked, and turned to leave, but hesitated, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"What's your name?"

"James, but ye can call me Jamie."

"Goodnight, Jamie." She smiled, and then disappeared into the confines of her own room.

"Goodnight, Sassenach." He whispered into the empty darkness. He didn't even know her name.


	3. Claire

**_"Claire"  
Sussex, Virginia  
28th March 1858_**

He had tried so hard to forget, to put it all behind him. But you can't run from your past, the pain and trauma always followed no matter the distance. Even if he was an ocean away from where it all happened, the scars and the memories remained.

No matter where he went, there were walls. Everything had walls, both physical and mental. Whether to lock something in or keep something out, he was never sure. The thing he was sure of, there was _always_ a wall.

The stone walls of Wentworth prison acted as a barrier between life, and death. The separation of humanity, and the broken spirits of those who had lost it. They trapped abused bodies and tortured minds inside those bloody walls. Those who still had hope would try and fight it. They screamed and screamed, the sound echoing on deaf ears, unheard.

They fought against the iron chains that held them, leaving their wrists red and raw. Jamie remembered every single moment, every detail.

If he closed his eyes, he could feel the sharp pull of the hairs on his wrists being caught in the irons. The metal that had been so cold at first, now warmed by his own body. That sound of chain scraping against stone would never leave him, constantly echoing in his mind.

The leather of the whip that had been used to tear him open felt as vivid as it had the day it happened. Each time he heard the snap, he felt its bite. He'd refused to cry out or beg for mercy, he would not give the onlookers that satisfaction. Then that thick, warm liquid ran down his body, turning sticky as it dried. His life's blood, leaving him behind.

But above all else, that voice stayed with him. Whispering the same proposition over and over again.

 _Give yourself to me, make free of your body. Do it, and I will make sure there is no second flogging._

But Jamie wouldn't break–refused to give him what he wanted. What would his family think of him if he surrendered himself? What would he think of himself?

Maybe it would have been less painful, but he would not give in. It didn't matter if he died there, at least he had his dignity and his pride. He would still be _Jamie_ ; not some shell of a man, living the rest of his life in shame.

Even so, the memory of it tormented him – reliving it every time he closed his eyes. But this time was different. This time, he wasn't so lucky. He didn't escape, and as a result, allowed Randall to do with him as he pleased.

 _Jamie!_

 _Jamie, wake up!_

He woke to find her face hovering over his, and immediately, he felt safe. He tried to speak, but the words remained trapped in his throat.

"Are you alright?" Her hair hung loose around her face, the white of her shift peeking through the blanket that was wrapped tightly around her. She looked exactly as she had that morning in the woods.

All he could manage was a nod, even though he was nowhere near alright, and she knew it; but she let him keep his pride and said nothing.

She stood and readjusted the blanket that was the only boundary between scandal and modesty.

"Breakfast will be in about an hour. Try to get _some_ rest until then. You'll need it."

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat as the door closed behind her. He couldn't tell if his heart was still racing from the nightmare, or because of her.

* * *

The sun had barely peeked above the horizon, but his day, like the rest, had already begun.

Once falling back to sleep proved futile, Jamie slipped out from the warmth and safety of the sheets and into the unknown of the day ahead.

For the first time in days, he saw his reflection and immediately felt sorry for anyone who had laid eyes on him.

Any bit of exposed skin was covered in a layer of dirt and sweat, only adding to the stench of a life lived outdoors.

His once auburn hair had faded to brown, the accumulation of dust and dirt snuffing out the red flames. Along with the other new aspects of his appearance, a beard was just one more thing to add to the list.

He was grateful that he had been provided with clean clothes and water to wash.

Now all he needed was food to quiet his rumbling stomach.

* * *

With his basic grooming needs satisfied, he finally had the chance to properly observe his surroundings. Everything looked different in the light of day, like he was seeing it for the first time.

It was small, but it had a warmth to it that made it feel like home. The floor was made up of a dark wood that contrasted nicely with the lighter walls. There was a medium sized hearth on the far wall that was always burning, keeping the inhabitants of the building warm. The room was only big enough for three tables, and they sat close enough to one another so that conversation came easy. And then there was the bar, behind which the Sassenach stood.

There were several young girls in her employ, some no more than twenty. But there was one girl in particular that caught his eye.

Her hands shook as she placed several bottles into a large basket, no doubt to make a delivery from the tavern's distillery. He could see her chest heaving from across the room. Fear wracked through her body, her back ramrod straight, and if she was trying to hide it, she wasn't doing it very well.

Jamie couldn't help but feel bad for the girl, he knew what people were capable of.

Quietly, he pulled her employer aside.

"Is she alright?" His head tilted in the direction of the girl.

"Mary? It's her first time making a delivery. I know she's afraid, but I can't spare any of the other girls to go with her." He could see the guilt behind her eyes, and all he wanted to do was hold her and tell her it would be alright. His father had told him when the right woman came along, he would know. He never understood it, until now.

"What if I went with her? I know I haven't anything to pay ye with, but I _can_ protect her. Ease her mind a bit."

"You'd do that?" For the first time he saw the woman beneath the hard exterior, a crack forming in a wall so carefully built.

"Well, I figure I do owe ye something for all ye've done for me."

Her lips curved into a genuine smile, one that reached her amber eyes.

"Thank you, Jamie. Truly."

"It's my pleasure, Sassenach."

And once again, he headed into the mist.

* * *

The sun had come and gone, and they returned as the last bits of light were consumed by the dark – the absence of light signaling its people home.

When they left, Mary had kept her head down, her eyes focused on the ground instead of the strange man walking beside her.

They spent nearly an hour in silence.

But as time passed, she began to relax, allowing the walls she built around herself to fall. Eventually she began to enjoy herself, returning to the happy girl she once was.

No one had ever seen Mary so happy, so full of life. No longer the meek little girl, afraid of her own shadow.

She was about to head to the storeroom, to record the day's transactions, but was stopped short.

"I'll take care of it, you go." Jamie said, taking the basket from her hand.

* * *

Strange, the way life works. How one day everything is falling apart, and the next a stranger walks through the door and the whole world changes.

And that stranger just so happened to be a large, stubborn, red-headed Scot.

He was no one, in all honesty. No money, no home, no family. He had nothing to offer but himself, even though he had no obligation to do so.

I don't know what I expected, or what I wanted. I still don't. He's only a stranger, so why don't I want him to go? I know tragedy, and I know it well. He could have taken advantage of me, or worse. But he didn't. He was the sort of man who kept his word, a kind and genuine gentleman. A truly honest man.

Jamie was a man trying to start a new life, just as I was.

"Thank you. For accompanying Mary and keeping her safe. I've never seen her so happy." I said as he came out of the store-room.

He smiled and looked down at his feet, avoiding my gaze. "Think nothing of it." He let out a sigh before continuing. "It's late, I should probably head up."

"See you tomorrow?" _Of course you'll see him tomorrow you fool._

"Aye. Goodnight Sass-"

"Claire," I blurted before I could stop myself.

"Goodnight, Claire," he said with a smile and slight nod of his head.


	4. A Past Left Behind

" _ **A Past Left Behind"  
**_ _ **Williamsburg, Virginia  
**_ _ **6th March 1857**_

It was never my plan to be married. Marriage meant relying on a man for every want and need, becoming nothing other than a housewife, stripped of her freedom. I wasn't raised to become an extension of another person, or to adhere to society's expectations of women. I was raised to be _myself_. To break the mold of society and become a woman who had her freedom. Whose life was her own.

My father wasn't an ordinary man, he thought of my mother as his equal. He believed that she should be able to live her life with the same freedoms that men had, because she was a _person._ Our home was a sanctuary, a completely different world than the one outside. My parents loved me, and cared for me. They provided everything a child needed and _more._ It was the three of us against the world, and we were _happy._

Then it all came crashing down. My innocence and carelessness shattered, just like their bones. My hopes and dreams crushed, the same way their bodies had. The world as I knew it was dead, and so were my parents.

And the happy young girl I once was, was buried along with them.

My Uncle Lamb was the only other family I had, and at the ripe young age of six, going to live with him was just about the only option I had.

The first few weeks were rough, what with me still in a constant state of grief and my Uncle having no idea on how to comfort me. When I wasn't crying, I was locked inside my bedroom, avoiding the life that awaited me on the other side of the door. I hardly ate or slept, I couldn't. How could I go on? How could I live while they were left in the ground to rot? How could I _live_ without them?

Even so, sitting in the dark and wallowing in my pain was _not_ a life. I had become a person I no longer recognized, a person that I _hated._

I was drowning, giving up and letting go. My body collapsing beneath the tide, the air in my lungs going with it. No one could save me, only _I_ could do that.

So when I left that room, I emerged from the suffocating depths of the sea, and took a breath.

Uncle Lamb did his best to raise me in an environment that was similar to the one I had. I'm sure it wasn't easy for him, living the life of a bachelor and then suddenly landing with the responsibility of raising a six-year-old. But he loved me and did his best, and that was enough.

I had grown into a woman that I was proud of, and one that I knew my parents would have been proud of.

I had planned a life for myself, a plan that was my future. I wanted to become a nurse, a woman who made _her own_ living.

Healing people was my passion, especially knowing there was something I could do to help. Something I could do to possibly even save their life. I couldn't do it for my parents, but I could do it for other's. At least, I could try.

I knew that if I married, it was unlikely that I could continue doing that. And I was _damned_ if anyone else died without having that chance.

But Uncle Lamb was sick, and it wasn't anything I could help. Once he was gone, I would be out of a home and forced onto the streets. We didn't have much to begin with, and now there would be even less money coming in. He gave me everything he could, there wasn't much left.

So before he died, he arranged a marriage, so that I was taken care of and protected.

The groom-to-be was a soldier, and there was much more than a few pennies to his name. He was charming, and he wasn't _un_ attractive.

This was my Uncle's dying wish, how could I refuse? It wasn't what I wanted, but perhaps it wouldn't be so bad?

 _ **Wrong.**_

I had only met him a few times before the ceremony, and he was very kind to me. But once the vows were read, things were _very_ different.

In public, he acted as polite and charming as he had when I first met him; but behind closed doors, that man disappeared entirely.

Jonathan Wolverton Randall is _not_ the man he wants you to believe.

I tried to fight him, tried to get away, _tried_ to escape the hell I had walked in to. All to no avail.

He took what he wanted, did as he pleased; _no_ was a word that ceased to exist. Once, my life had been so full of hope and possibilities. Now it was like I was back in that room, stranded at sea and left to drown.

If only Uncle Lamb knew that this man was not my protector, but a man to be protected _from._

I used to be strong. I knew what I wanted and I fought for it. I fought for others when they didn't have the strength to. But now there was no more fight left in me.

I didn't care if he hit me, I didn't care if he raped me, I didn't care. There was no point in fighting, I wouldn't win.

I began to hope that he would cut me deep enough so I would bleed out, so it would finally be _over_. But it was never deep enough, it was never hard enough. Never enough to kill me, but enough so that I _wished_ it did.

He broke me, and there is no fun playing with broken toys.

So he left. To find a new toy, and left me to rot.

I had begged and prayed to be free for so long, and now I could.

If I wanted.

I laid there, naked and alone, staring into the dark. The empty black that I prayed would swallow me whole, to take my battered body from this dank room and carry me away.

I no longer knew what I wanted. I didn't know if I even wanted to live. How could I recover? How could I just go back? How could I look at other people and know that while they were out living their lives and pursuing their dreams; mine were being crushed. While they were living, I wished I were dead.

So I closed my eyes, and succumbed to the pain that ravaged my body.

* * *

When I opened my eyes, I was still there. The acrid taste of bile rose in my throat, and whatever was left in my stomach was now on the floor.

Hot tears burned my eyes and down my cheeks, my throat felt like it was closing and I could no longer breathe.

I was disappointed. I was sad. I was angry.

Angry at my parents and uncle for leaving me. Angry at the man who stole my life. Angry at the people who couldn't hear my screams. Angry at myself, for giving up.

Every feeling I ignored, every thought I pushed away, every happy memory that I thought dead, came rushing to the surface.

I sobbed. I screamed. I punched the wall until my knuckles bled.

It was then that I decided I would not let him beat me. I would not give up. I would make him pay for what he did. No other girl would go through what I went through, not if I could help it.

So when the light faded, I put on the clothes that I had been deprived of, and headed onto the street.

I left that place and everything in it. I would never be that woman again. Claire Beauchamp was dead, and Julia Lambert was born. And I never looked back.


	5. New Beginnings

**_New Beginnings_  
 _Sussex, Virginia  
29th March 1858_**

The North Star can always be found among the millions of other tiny specks of light, its presence just a little bit greater than the rest. It's a fixed point in the sky; never moving, never fading. The stars are a map of light; and people trusted it to guide them, should they lose their way.

 _Claire. Sorcha_ ; her name literally meant _light._ He laid there, staring up at the ceiling as if he were gazing at the stars.

 _She was his North Star._

He had been lost for so long, never knowing what he wanted, or even deserved. He was a broken man who was surviving, but never _living_. He had lost his home and his family: everything that mattered. He didn't care where he ended up or what happened to him. What did he have left?

Then one morning, he woke to find her face hovering over his, the one that tore him from the torment that lived in his dreams.

Before that, he was trapped in the dark, no light to guide him out.

 _But **She** was the light._

He couldn't sleep even if he wanted to, his heart beating erratically in his chest and his stomach dissolving into thousands of butterfly wings. There was _nothing_ except _her._

And it had only been two days.

 _Two days._

Forty-eight hours, and he would _never_ be the same.

* * *

It had been a year, but everything was as vivid as if it had happened the day before.

I was afraid that when I opened my eyes I would still be in that room, and that _this_ was the dream.

Though it might as well have been a dream; my body was free, but _I_ was not.

The physical wounds had healed and faded, but emotionally, they festered; refusing to heal.

I thought I had escaped, but truthfully, I never really left.

* * *

The tavern was rarely ever closed–they needed every penny they could get just to keep the place running. It was a sanctuary, a place that gave people second chances. So many people relied on it not only for financial income, but because for some, their lives depended on it.

But today was one of the rare ones. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, only blue. It was a day that _finally_ felt like spring. Flowers began to blossom, trees began to bloom, grass was beginning to turn green again; the world was _alive._

The girls took advantage of the break and nice weather, finally free to be themselves. The world was at their feet; they had their entire lives ahead of them; the possibilities were endless.

Jamie couldn't help but smile, seeing the utter joy in their faces as they savored the light of a new day.

 _But none of them were Claire._

* * *

As he mounted the top of the stairs, he could hear the shuffling of footsteps coming from Claire's room. It was just past noon, and it became clear to him that he hadn't seen her since the night before.

He stood outside her door, trying to decide whether or not to interfere, or leave her be.

Then he heard… crying?

And before he knew it, his knuckles were pounding against the dark expanse of the wood, announcing his presence.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and then… nothing.

"Claire?"

Silence.

"Claire?" He tried again. "Are ye alright?"

Silent footfalls and then the door opened just enough so that she could peer through the opening.

It was obvious that she had been crying, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were red; lashes still wet with tears.

She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and cleared her throat. "Y-yes, Jamie?"

She had tried to sound strong, and look it, but her voice wavered and trembled as the words left her mouth. Additionally, her face was transparent: the pain bright as day, as though he was looking through a window into her very soul.

He felt an ache in his chest, his heart practically breaking as he looked at her. What had happened to make her feel like this?

"What's wrong, lass?" His eyes searched hers, looking for a way in.

 _Let me help, mo nighean donn. Please._

Her brows furrowed and she turned her gaze to the floor, so that he couldn't see her face. She nodded, opening the door further to let him in.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Claire sat at the edge of the bed, her knees tucked up beneath her chin with her head bent in such a way that the dark waves of her hair hid her face from view.

Jamie stood a few feet from the door, shifting from foot to foot; unsure of what to say while silent sobs wracked through her body.

Cautiously, he stepped towards her before sitting beside her, the mattress shifting beneath his weight.

He fought with himself, debating whether he should just sit there and wait for her to speak, or to listen to his heart and wrap his arms around her and hold her until she stopped crying.

 _But she was in nothing but her shift, and being here in this room–alone–with her would certainly ruin her reputation and everything that she had built._

 _She was upset and vulnerable, and he could so easily take advantage of that._

His jaw clenched in decision and he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. The dam broke and the tears ran freely, nothing holding them back. She couldn't remember the last time she let herself feel so freely: a way in which she did not hide everything she felt. The walls of her fortress came crashing to the ground, leaving her naked and exposed.

Jamie held her tighter to him, her head resting against his shoulder, staining his shirt with tears.

"Shhh, _mo nighean donn_. I'm here. I willna harm ye." He whispered into the clouds of her hair before gently kissing the top of her head.

They sat that way for a long time, until her breathing slowed and tears no longer flooded her eyes. His left hand laid flat against her back, his fingers moving in soothing circles as he held her. It was almost as if he was shielding her from harm–he would let it all land solely on himself if it spared her the pain.

Slowly, she raised her head so that she was looking directly at him, their faces only inches apart. Then she was leaning towards him, and he towards her, as if some outside force was pushing them together.

Their lips met, and the rest of the world melted away: along with every painful memory, every broken dream, every ounce of wariness disintegrated until nothing was left but them. _Only_ them.

They lost themselves in each other and, for a moment–just a moment, there was hope: that she would be okay, in the end. That the future would be brighter than the one that was so greedily yanked away from her. That she could be the person she had eventually lost sight of.

And then it was gone; the kiss ended abruptly as she jumped back and stood in front of him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Jamie looked at her, his brows knitted together in confusion. Had he done something wrong?

She backed away until her back hit the wall, her chest heaving as her breathing picked up again.

"I'm sorry…" She whispered, and then she was on the floor.

She turned her head away from him and bit her lip in an attempt to keep the sobs from escaping. She wouldn't look at him– _couldn't_. Jamie stood and started towards her, one hand extended in front of him as if he were trying to calm a spooked horse. Kneeling in front of her, he placed his hand to rest on her shoulder. She flinched away from his touch, scooting further into the corner.

"It's alright. I won't hurt ye."

He paused for a moment, giving her the chance to respond. When she didn't, he continued.

"Ye can tell me what's wrong, Claire. I promise, I won't – _I will not_ \- judge you. Whatever ye tell me will never leave this room, I swear it. Let me help ye, _mo ghraidh."_

She turned to face him, a river of fresh tears streaming from her eyes.

"If I tell you–" She clenched her jaw, trying to rein in her emotions.

"If I tell you," She tried again, this time gaining her composure. "You will _never_ look at me the same." Her eyes shifted to look sharply into his. It was clear to him that whatever her situation entailed, it was serious.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and murmured, "Tell me."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, the images so clear in her head.

"My real name is Claire Beauchamp, and you're one of the only people left to know that. Here, I go by Julia Lambert, for reasons you will soon understand." The tears stopped flowing from her eyes, and her face was stone, void of any emotion. She didn't look directly at him, but instead at the space next to him, as if he had disappeared and she was bearing her soul to the empty confines of the room.

"I was raised by my parents, Henry and Julia, not too far from here. My father loved my mother and I deeply, and he never thought himself superior to women." A faint smile appeared as she remembered her childhood, but it quickly faded. "I suppose that our views were very different from other families, and I'm grateful for that."

She licked her lips before she spoke again. "They died when I was six. Everything I knew had been ripped out from under me, and the happy little girl I used to be went with them."

She glanced at Jamie as she said this, her face didn't need to express anything. The emotions were all present in her eyes. Looking away again, she continued.

"Uncle Lamb was the only family I had left–he raised me for the remainder of my childhood despite the fact that I had stopped being a child the minute my parents had died. But living with him wasn't much different than with my parents: their values and beliefs remained one in the same."

"He respected me the same way that my father did. He taught me to stand up for what I believed in and to chase after what I wanted. He used to say, _'If you can dream it, squirt, you can be it._ ' And so I did. I wanted to be a nurse, to help people. Since I couldn't help my parents, I could help other people." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a smile creeping onto her face.

"I loved being a nurse," she said. The smile faded as she exhaled. "Uncle Lamb eventually became ill, and there was nothing I could do to save him. He was all I had; it was because of him that I had a roof over my head and that I believed in myself. But between the both of us, we barely had enough to keep that. So when he died, I knew I would've been forced out onto the streets." She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what came next.

"So he arranged a marriage." She opened her eyes but shifted her gaze to the floor, her hands clutching the thin fabric of her shift so that her knuckles became white. "To a soldier."

"Johnathan. Wolverton. _Randall_ ," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Jamie's ears pricked at the name, his eyes wide as he stared at her.

"Did ye say _Randall_?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She turned her attention toward him, her eyebrows knitted together as she gazed at him. "Do you know him?"

Now it was Jamie's turn to remember, his usual calm blue eyes turning to ice as he stared at his hands. "Aye," he murmured, his voice deep–hard. "Aye, I ken the man well."

Claire crawled towards him, taking his large hand in hers.

"So you know what he can do?" Her attention was fully on him, her mind returning fully to the present.

Jamie's face hardened as he looked up at her, into those deep, swirling pools of whiskey. He nodded, his thoughts grimly imagining what he could have done to _her._

He brought his other hand to grasp over their joined ones, squeezing as he spoke. "Did he hurt ye?" He was no longer looking at her, he couldn't. He _couldn't_ imagine what he had done to her, this amazing, perfect, woman.

She swallowed, "Yes." Her voice was flat, _Jamie knew him_. Then realization dawned on her; _What had Randall done to him?_

She squeezed his hand in return. "Did he hurt _you_?"

Jamie could only nod, his mind no longer in the room with her. Instead, he was back inside the walls of Wentworth prison, his hands chained to a post as the whip came down onto his back with such force, such _fury._

Her hand came to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "He's gone, Jamie. He's _not_ here. He can't hurt us now."

She never imagined herself saying those words, because to her, Randall was still _very much_ here.

She crawled closer to him, so that she was practically on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. All she could do was hold him, and him her.

And they sat that way for a long time, struggling to rid themselves of the same man that had single-handedly broken them both.


	6. Piecing Ourselves Back Together

**_Piecing Ourselves Back Together  
_** ** _Sussex, Virginia  
_** _ **30th March 1858**_

He was a work of art; a masterpiece. His face was artistry in and of itself, but _God, his body_. Every line and curve of him was sculpted to perfection. From the broad set of his shoulders, to the flat planes of his back. Then there was the way his muscles moved just beneath his skin, and the way his mouth parted slightly when he looked at her. Red flames of hair against ocean blue eyes–it was burning and drowning all at the same time, _and it was heaven._

His gaze ignited the smoldering embers that had been burning ever since that night: when a wayward stranger stumbled into an empty tavern in the middle of God knows where; those embers were now a blazing inferno, consuming each and every inch of her.

The heat pooled low in her belly, spreading to the space in between her thighs. She was burning for him; her entire body ached for his touch, feeling as though she might die without it.

She wanted him– no, _needed_ –him

She closed the space between them so that they were flush against each other; and the flames went higher, consuming them both.

His mouth captured hers, claiming her and marking her as his.

It was torture, and she couldn't get enough; writhing and clawing in his arms, doing anything and everything to urge him forward.

His large hands burned against her skin as they slid down her back. They didn't stop until they reached her arse, finding purchase in the flesh that was there.

He pulled her hard against him, her hips meeting his. She could feel every inch of his arousal against her; the intensity of her own making itself known.

She took him in her hand–her one and only goal: to drive him absolutely _mad._

 _And oh was she succeeding._

Jamie let out a groan, his eyes rolling back into his head as she stroked him. When she took her hand away, he groaned and looked at her in the same way a predator looks at its prey.

He picked her up bodily, pressing her against him until they reached her bed. He half set her down, half dropped her, his patience wearing thin.

He crawled on top of her, that predatory glare still sparking his eyes; and sealed his mouth against hers. One hand came up to briefly massage her breast before working its way down to grasp her hip.

A finger stroked the wet expanse of her, dipping inside of her every so often–teasing her, making her beg.

She whimpered into his mouth, her hips rising up from the mattress to meet his.

Then in one swift move , he slammed home.

* * *

It was the scream that woke her, only to realize that it had come from her own mouth. Claire sat bolt upright in bed, her chest heaving and the the thin cotton of her shift sticking to her damp and heated skin.

" _Jesus_ bloody _Christ!_ " She whispered to herself, still able to feel the violent throbbing between her legs.

 _What the_ fuck _was that, Beauchamp?_

The knock at her door nearly made her heart stop.

"Claire?! Are ye alright?! I heard a scream!" He tried to keep his voice as low as possible, but it was _hardly_ short of a yell–the fear and concern in his voice was coming across loud and clear.

Claire quickly pulled the bedclothes up around her shoulders, shielding herself as if he could see her through the door.

"Yes! I'm fine! P-promise." She had tried to sound reassuring, but the memory of her dream had stolen the breath from her lungs and left her body trembling.

She could almost _see_ the look on his face. "Ye don't sound fine."

 _Christ, Jamie! Can you stop being the_ bloody _hero for once?!_

She cleared her throat before speaking, but the words died before they could reach her lips.

She heard him shifting his feet outside the door, and then the small metallic rattle as his hand came into contact with the handle.

 _Please don't come in, please don't come in! Whatever you do, please DON'T. COME. IN!_

"May I come in?" He whispered.

"NO! I mean, no. I'm… I'm not decent. I'll meet you downstairs?" She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he would agree.

There was a long pause before he finally responded, "Aye. I'll see ye soon."

She fell back against the pillows, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, as she listened to his footsteps receding down the hall.

 _Calm down, Beauchamp. Everything is fine. You'll just go downstairs and talk to him and it'll be like nothing ever even happened…_

 _Oh_ fuck _, how the hell can I even_ look _at him?!_

* * *

The dream had come out of nowhere; the night before had been spent digging up painful memories and reliving the very worst parts of their lives that were meant to _stay_ buried. If anything, she expected another night terror, not… _that_ –and now she had to look at the man who had seemed so _real_ in her dream. The man who drove her over the edge again and again… _and again_. It dawned on her the reality of the situation: he had no notion of what happened once her head hit the pillow.

Who was to say he even felt that way? Hell, she didn't even know _her own_ feelings.

She spent several minutes pacing her room before finally deciding to just get it over with. _It's not like I can avoid it._

Yet for as much as she _dreaded_ facing him, another part of her couldn't wait. _Like anything would actually happen_ , she chided herself.

She froze in front of the door, her heart dropping into the very pit of her stomach as she faced the reality of what was about to happen.

 _Well, it's now or never._

 _Is never an option?_

"Not bloody likely." She muttered to herself, before finally opening the door.

* * *

He practically ran to her once she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Sassenach, are you alright?" One large hand came to rest on her shoulder, his voice soft and tentative as though he were speaking to a small child.

Her body came to life once more at his touch, and she did everything she could to try and suppress the primal urge of jumping his bones right then and there.

When she spoke, her voice sounded mechanical. "Yes, I'm fine." She refused to look at him, so afraid of what he might see.

Ruddy brows knitted together in concern, and his grip on her arm tightened. "Are ye sure? It wasn't… Randall?" He spat the name out, like it were some putrid thing rotting in his mouth.

Her entire body went numb, and her mind was no longer present–disappearing into a void where the entire world ceased to exist. Whatever she had been feeling before had disappeared entirely. Her entire world narrowed down into a single point, the trauma she pushed into the deepest recesses of her mind, never to see the light of day again.

He slowly pulled his arm away as he felt her entire body go rigid.

 _No, not Randall._

"Claire, I'm-"

" _Don't._ " She hissed, eyes dark and piercing, slicing him to the core.

* * *

Claire stormed outside, unable to speak to him despite everything that happened the night before.

 _"We'll never bring this up again. It's in the past, and that is where it will remain."_

 _"I can't do it again, Jamie. I can't go back there."_

 _I was just starting to piece myself back together, so please, don't make me fall apart again._

It was still dark out, the sun having not yet risen. Despite it being Spring, the temperature had dropped dramatically overnight; the warmth of her breath disturbing the bitter cold that had settled over the land. A layer of frost had come to occupy anything its icy grip could reach, pushing the new life of spring back into a state of dormancy. Neither the moon or the stars could be found among the inky black sky; heavy clouds obscured anything that laid above them, leaving the world cold and black–much like the fate they would all meet, sooner or later.

Wrapping the cloak tighter around her herself, Claire made her way over to a bench that sat a few feet away from an herb garden–the one that held herbs she found useful for her medicinal practices, and for a future once thought lost, but could now be reclaimed.

As the sun began to rise, turning black into a pale blue, Claire took solace in her surroundings; reminding herself that she was alive and, in that, there was hope.


	7. Sauve Mon Coeur

**_Sauve Mon Coeur  
_** ** _Sussex, Virginia  
_** _ **30th March 1858**_

 _If you found me, would you save me?  
_ _If you touched me, would it break me?  
_ _Will I come back from this?  
_ _Come down, rescue my heart  
_ _I'll drown, without you_

The sun slowly began its ascent into the sky, kissing it with hues of pink and orange and blue. Streaks of gold radiated from the sun, breaking through the clouds and bathing the world in light. The frosted tips of grass and leaves melted away, an icy dormancy relenting into soft morning dew. A fog had rolled out from between the trees, briefly obscuring everything until it faded into a fine mist.

A doe emerged from the hazy treeline before stopping dead in her tracks. I suspected that she saw me and spooked, ready to make a run for it—but she didn't. She was staring directly at me, our eyes locked onto one another's. I don't know how long it lasted, whether it was only a moment or twenty, but when I blinked, she was gone.

I was so lost in the world around me, I hadn't heard him coming.

"Mind if I sit wi' ye?" He spoke softly, as if I were a small child who'd just woken up from a nightmare.

I was still angry– _upset._ But I knew that he meant no harm,that he was only trying to comfort me and let me know that he was there. That he would listen without judgement or pity and just _listen._

I nodded silently and moved over on the bench so that he could sit beside me. Immediately, I could feel the warmth that radiated off him, even through the cold and the layers of clothing between us.

I felt my anger melt away into something more somber that made my heart feel heavy, like something was squeezing it inside of my chest and the only way to get rid of it was to talk about it. Only I had already told him everything. Well, _almost_ everything.

"Sassena–Claire. I just wanted to apologize for earlier… I ken what ye said about it, I just–"

"Stop, Jamie," I cut him off, already knowing what he was going to say. I was upset and I blew up at him. In all my life, he was one of the only people who believed in me and cared and listened. _Actually_ listened.

"You didn't do anything wrong I– I overreacted and you didn't deserve that. You don't need to apologize… it's alright."

The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile, and in that moment I could see the small red-haired boy he used to be whose grin lit up the entire room. "Aye, well." He chuckled.

"It's no' just that…" He trailed off, his tone turned serious and his smile disappearing entirely.

I sat up a bit, intrigued. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath before continuing, "Do you remember when ye told me about what happened to ye?" His voice was deep and thick with emotion, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach as I realized what he was about to say.

I froze. I couldn't move and I couldn't speak, I felt like I falling and I was powerless to stop it.

He looked away, his eyes pinned to the ground. "I told ye that I knew Randall, an' that something happened to me as well."

He swallowed, and I noticed a tear roll down his cheek.

I wanted him to stop; I didn't want to picture whatever it was that Randall had done to him. But at the same time I knew it was something he had to do–needed to.

I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded, allowing him to continue.

"When I left Scotland, I was also leaving Randall and wha' happened behind. I promised myself that I wouldna think about it ever again, that I would leave the past in the past." A breath. " I'd been able to keep that promise, for the most part. But when ye told me what he did to ye…" I could almost see the anger and rage building in him as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Not only did I remember wha' happened to me, but I was seein' _you_ as well. Everythin' ye said he did to ye–I can see it. Playin' over an' over again in my head-" He paused, squeezing his eyes shut as if to force the image out of his mind.

"It's tearin' me apart, Claire." His voice broke, the emotions running through him too much for one person to bear.

I saw another tear roll down his cheek, and I felt my heart split in two.

"Oh Jamie…" I breathed, and felt a tear roll down my own cheek. Suddenly I was crushing him to me, wrapping myself around him as if to absorb some of the pain so he wouldn't have to bear it alone.

"I'm so sorry…" I whispered into the fabric of his shirt, my heart breaking along with his.

I felt him wrap his arms around me and hold me tight against him.

"You don't have to say it I-" I was unable to say anything more as Jamie kissed me hard on the mouth, stealing the breath from my body.

I melted into him, my mind immediately going back to my dream from the night before.

I had kissed him yesterday, in the heat of the moment and immediately regretted it. I hardly knew Jamie and he was there for me, made me feel safe. I had no idea if my feelings for him were reciprocated, but apparently, they were.

I sighed and made a noise of contentment as the rest of the world faded away, until I was only able to feel Jamie's lips and body against mine.

My hands came up to rest on either side of his face, and I pulled away a little so that I could look at him. _Really_ look at him. There were so many things I hadn't noticed before: freckles speckled across his face like the stars in the night sky, his red lashes that were blond at the root and dark on the ends, the blue of his eyes that seemed to shine like crystals; flawless and perfect in every way. I could still see the silver trails of tears that ran down his face, shining in the sun. And then I remembered.

 _What if he was only doing this so he could forget?_

 _What if he's only doing this to distract himself?_

 _What if he was only using me because I was there?_

 _What did this mean?_

 _Do I mean more to him than a friend?_

 _What if he hurts me like everyone else?_

 _What if he leaves?_

But the way he looked at me… It wasn't like anyone had ever looked at me before, and I could feel my heart reaching out to his. Could feel myself begin to heal and be okay again.

 _No, this was right._

I leaned in to kiss him again, my pulse starting to race. One of his hands came up and tucked a stray curl behind my ear, then moved to the nape of my neck and tangled in the hair that was there.

He kissed his way down to my chin and then my neck, giving my head a gentle tug to expose it.

"Jamie…" I sighed into the air trying to form some semblance of a thought.

I quickly pulled away, even though it took every ounce of strength to do so. "I have to get things ready for today." I was winded, my body already missing his touch.

A faint blush crept up his neck and settled in the apples of his cheeks as he looked away briefly and smiled, though I could tell something was still bothering him.

"Aye, I'll walk ye in."

* * *

The day wore on, one minute seemingly longer than the last. There was a steady stream of patrons throughout the day, the nice weather bringing them in flocks. The sun had begun to set and soon I'd finally be able to have some time to myself again.

"'Scuse me mistress!" The man had come in hours ago and had been drinking practically all day. "Scould you be sooooo kind n' gi' me an… anotherer…?" The man slurred in his inebriated state, leaning over the counter with his empty mug outstretched towards me.

I put down the mug I was drying and crossed my arms over my chest as I glared at the man. "I think you've had enough, sir." I reached out to take his mug, but he jerked it out of my hand and slammed it onto the counter, anger coloring his features.

"I wasnae askin…" He hissed, his Irish brogue prominent.

I was taken aback by the drastic change in his behavior. I reached out again for his mug, this time me being the one to yank it away. "Neither was I."

The man was furious, even more so than before, if that were even possible.

He dove over the counter and pinned me against the wall, causing me to drop the mug which subsequently shattered onto the floor around me. But I couldn't focus on anything else except the man in front of me with his hand wrapped tight around my neck. Everyone was looking now, but no one moved.

Memories raced through my mind at an alarmingly fast pace, my entire life condensed into a few seconds.

 _Is this it? Is this how I'm going to die? After all I've been through, after all I've survived, I'm going to die at the hands of some drunken idiot?_

His grip was tightening and it was getting increasingly harder to breathe. "I said, I wasn't asking." He hissed, his words clear and filled with venom.

I was frantic, my heart racing inside of my chest and my eyes flitting about the room at everyone standing by and just _watching._

 _Why aren't they doing anything?!_

His face was only a few inches away from mine, threatening. "Now, I suggest ye ge-" He was cut off as the front door slammed open, revealing a very angry Jamie.

My heart soared at the sight of him.

Jamie stormed over and punched the Irishman square in the face, knocking him to the floor. Jamie stood tall, intimidating. " _I suggest_ ," Jamie growled, repeating the same words that the man had just said to me. "That ye leave here afore ye have much more than a broken nose to worry about."

Blood was streaming from his nose, and you could see that he was absolutely _livid,_ but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He ran out after everyone else like a scared little dog, and I couldn't help but laugh.

Once everyone was out of sight, Jamie turned to me with nothing but worry and concern. "Sassenach, are ye alright?Are ye hurt?" His hands rested gently on my shoulders as he frantically searched for any sign of damage.

"I am now." I smiled, and he crushed me to his chest, his right hand cradling my head as he pressed me against him.

"God, Claire, I'm so sorry." He sighed as he pulled away to look at me once again.

I know that I should've been in distress over what had just happened, and it's not that I wasn't, but the utter joy and relief that I felt at the sight of Jamie was overwhelming.

"Thank God you were here." I whispered, mostly to myself, as I took in every detail of his face and burned it into my memory.

His wide smile returned and he hugged me again, both of us succumbing to the relief of the moment and the presence of each other.

Jamie had started to laugh, shaking his head before looking back up at me. "Sassenach, I swear… Ye'll be the death of me."

I smiled, reached up and pulled his head down to mine and kissed him, long and hard and sweet.

I knew that we should talk about this morning and what Jamie was saying, but it could wait. After all, what difference would an hour or two make?


	8. The Light in the Dark

_**The Light in the Dark  
**_ _ **Sussex, Virginia  
**_ ** _31st March 1858_**

An endless abyss of emptiness lie before me; so dark and black that I could scarcely see my hands held out in front of me.

I didn't know where I was or how I got there, only that I needed to find a way out.

I took off running in one direction, thinking that perhaps if I ran long enough I'd eventually find a way out. But for all I knew, I could have been running for an eternity.

My entire body was screaming for me to stop, begging for a respite no matter how short. I could hardly feel my legs anymore, but what I _could_ feel, was pain. My muscles were cramping and pain ran through my every nerve, shooting up my spine and wrapping itself around my racing heart.

The metallic-like taste of blood coated my tongue and throat as my lungs constricted painfully in my chest as they struggled to take in the oxygen they so desperately needed.

Each part of my body was like an instrument in an orchestra, each one joining in a grand crescendo of pain until my vision blurred and I collapsed altogether.

* * *

When I woke I found that darkness still surrounded me, but not the same black emptiness as before.

I was in a corner of some dank room, the only light source was a small torch near the door. _A cell door._

Across the room I could see the dark silhouette of a man and I could hear him struggling to free himself from the chains to which he was bound.

There were also the far off screams that echoed through the building (a prison, most likely). Bloodcurdling, heart wrenching screams of men whose souls were damned to a hell on earth.

But the man before me did not scream, and it wasn't until the light of the torch glinted off of his hair—hair the same color as the fire that lit it— that I realized this man wasn't a stranger. This man was _Jamie._

I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach, heavy and painful. I knew that this wasn't reality, that I was in a dream of sorts, but that didn't make what was about to happen any less real.

We were suddenly transported outside with a gray sky that loomed overhead; rain threatening to fall. We were in a courtyard of some sort, Jamie chained to a post atop a platform while I watched helplessly from the audience.

I didn't need to see to know what was about to happen or to whom the hand that held the whip belonged; I already knew.

I knew the man all too well and what he was capable of— I had experienced it myself.

* * *

Time seemed to pass in slow motion, making an already horrific event that much more agonizing; but that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that while I watched Jamie's back being flayed to the bone, I felt it too.

Every snap of the whip was followed by stinging pain, the tiny bits of metal at the ends burying themselves into my flesh and ripping it away.

Jamie was stronger than I was, because while he hardly did more than flinch, I was screaming and crying and begging for mercy amongst a crowd of people to whom I was invisible.

While the time I spent trapped and alone in the dark with Randall was horrific and traumatizing; it was a different type of abuse.

For me it was mind games and control, power over me and my body but for Jamie…

For Jamie it was physical. He had walls that refused to crumble at the hands of that bastard, so he resorted to physical violence.

But even that did not break him.

* * *

 _"Claire!"_

I woke to find Jamie— the _real_ Jamie—standing over me, concern coloring every feature.

I could still feel vestiges of the lash, the gaping wounds that covered the entirety of my back; and his.

One big hand came up to cup my cheek, my own eyes drowning in his blue ones.

"Are ye alright, lass?" His voice was deep, still thick with sleep.

Images flashed through my mind: the smell of blood, sticky and wet. Wrists rubbed raw from iron cuffs that were too small. Screams of men begging for their lives that no one would ever hear.

"No." I rasped, squeezing my eyes shut as if it would erase everything I had just witnessed.

"What's amiss?" The mattress dipped beneath our combined weight as he sat at the edge beside me.

I swallowed, throat suddenly thick.

I sat up, fully aware that I was only wearing a thin cotton shift that he could see right through, but I didn't care.

"Do you remember what you were telling me earlier? About you and Randall?"

I felt more than saw his body tensing at the name, I myself winced every time I heard it.

"Aye. What of it?" His voice was careful and measured, cautious of whatever would come next.

I rested my back more fully against the headboard, my hands mindlessly playing with the hem of my shift beneath the blanket.

"What happened?" I let out a deep breath, thinking that I already knew but wanting to hear it from him first.

Jamie let out a breath of his own, and sat silent for a long while before finally speaking again.

"That's a verra long story, Claire." He gave me a pointed look before his face softened and continued.

"I suppose you don't really know anything about me at all, other than the bits I've told ye." He smiled, taking my hand in his. _A connection._

I gazed down at our join hands, a smile creeping onto my face. "No, I don't believe I do."

"Well, perhaps I should start by introducing myself? James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, at your service." He bowed his head over our hands before kissing mine. The room was still and black, other than the glow of the fire in the hearth on the far wall; but I could still make out the dark pools of blue that stared up at me beneath auburn lashes.

"I grew up on an estate called Lallybroch in Broch Mordha. My father built the place himself, ye ken? My mother, Ellen, died when I was young; in childbirth. My older brother Willie died shortly before my mother due to the smallpox. So I was left with only my father and my older sister, Jenny."

Jamie released my hand before standing up and crossing over to the hearth, feeding more wood into the fire.

"Anyways, one day Randall came down to our place while my father was away. I was workin' up in the hay fields when I heard Jenny scream. I ran down to find a redcoat tearin' at the front of her dress so I knocked the bugger out cold. I'd told Jenny to run but the next thing I knew Randall was standing in the doorway with a pistol to her head. I'd no choice but to surrender."

"He'd tied me up in the dooryard and beat me with his riding crop while forcin' my sister to watch. After a while he'd gotten tired and said to Jenny, ' _Have you seen enough? Or would you like to go inside and offer me better entertainment?_ ' I told her not to, even if he slit my throat right before her eyes. He took out his knife and knocked me out cold. By the time I came to, I was joltin' down the road to Wentworth trussed up in a wagon with the chickens."

He stood and made his way back over to me on the bed, but he did not touch me.

"The English; they flogged me twice in the space of a week, though it was on a different charge."

"Which was?" I looked up at him expectantly, but he kept his gaze trained on the fire.

"I believe it was obstruction?" His brows furrowed as he thought back to his past life.

"Obstruction? What's that? It doesn't sound very serious." I added, curious.

He did look at me then, with half a smirk on the corner of his mouth. "'Spose it means whatever the English say it does." He shrugged and looked away once more.

"After the first flogging and on the day of the second, they were taking me to Randall when I saw my father. He'd tried to get me pardoned, but it was of no use. It was the last time I ever saw my father, his last words to me were ' _You're a braw lad, son!'_ and he kissed me on the cheek."

"Randall told me that my father had tried to get me pardoned, but in order to do so he'd need the signature of some duke. He said even if he managed to get it he likely wouldn't make it back in time before they flogged me. So Randall offered me a proposition." Jamie stood again and stared into the roaring flames.

"He said ' _Give yourself to me. Make free of your body, and I will make sure there is no second flogging._ ' My back was still raw after the first, I could scarcely bear my own shirt. So, I considered it. I had no real way of knowing, but I figured that being buggered would hurt a great deal less than gettin' flogged a second time. But I could still feel my father's kiss on my cheek… So, I couldn't do it." His head dipped forward, his hands scrubbing his face aggressively.

"Apparently my father was there in the audience the second time. I'd passed out after a while, due to the loss of blood. My uncle, Dougal, told me later that it was then my father had died. That he must've thought me dead; he made a small sound before falling to the ground, dead. Dougal said he died of a broken heart."

I heard the break in his voice and thought I saw the glimmer of a tear roll down his cheek. I stood and made my way over to him, kneeling beside him and taking his hand in my own.

"I'm sorry, Jamie." I said, squeezing his hand and bringing it to my lips.

He smiled and grasped my hand with his free one and finally looked me in the eye. "Och, it's no' your fault."

"But to make a long story short, my friends helped me escape and I got on the first ship to America I could find. I haven't looked back since, I only wish I could've said goodbye to Jenny. Said goodbye to my father's grave."

He shook his head and moved to stand, bringing me up along with him. "Suppose I should let ye get yer sleep, aye?" He smiled and released my hand, making to move toward the door before I stopped him.

"Stay? Just for a while?" I smiled, hoping he would agree.


	9. Shadows

_**Shadows  
**_ _ **Sussex, Virginia  
**_ _ **1st April 1858**_

I laid next to Jamie, secure in his arms with my head resting on his chest; listening to the steady, predictable beat of his heart.

We laid there for what must have been hours, no words spoken between us, just brief glances and touches to confirm that we were there and that we were safe.

The revelations of the past few days weighed heavy on us, but at the same time a great weight had been lifted. Keeping something like that to yourself is an unbearable burden that no one can, nor should bear alone.

There was a kinship in it as well. Knowing that we both went through something terrible at the hands of the same man brought us closer than ever.

I often wondered what would have happened if my parents hadn't died when I was still so young. Would I have been happier? Would everything have turned out differently? Or would it all have resulted the same anyway?

And now I wondered if maybe those terrible things were _meant_ to happen to us. Because if it hadn't, I probably would have never met Jamie.

And perhaps it was still too early to tell what my life might be like in a few years. If all the hell and pain I went through would make me a better person, or fulfill some purpose greater than myself.

I wondered if Jamie felt the same.

He'd revealed the extent of what Randall had done to him only a few hours earlier, and I knew that it was still fresh on his mind.

His body was rigid beneath me, he laid there, frozen. One arm was wrapped around me while his eyes were pinned to the wooden beams that supported the ceiling.

"I already knew what happened before you told me. Not all of it, but some." I whispered to him, disturbing the stillness of the room.

I moved my head so that my chin rested on his chest, so I could see his face.

He looked down at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Did ye now?"

"Mhm." I returned the smile, my left hand drawing patterns over his heart that only I knew the meaning of.

"Well, are you going to tell me exactly _how_ you knew?" He nudged me, after I neglected to continue.

"I had a dream. Remember when you woke me up, asking if I was alright?"

He nodded, thinking back only a few hours.

"I saw it happen, I was there. You getting flogged the second time, while I watched helplessly from the audience. Except every time the lash tore at your back, I could feel it tearing at me."

I swallowed, my throat feeling suddenly dry.

"I begged and cried not only for the pain to stop, but for you as well. Only I was invisible. It was like I wasn't even there."

I was so absorbed in the memory of the dream I almost didn't notice when Jamie took me back into his arms.

"Hush, say no more _mo ghraidh_." He whispered into my hair, so softly I just barely heard it.

"' _Mo Ghraidh'_ …you've called me that before, what does it mean?

Jamie had been rubbing small circles on my back with his thumb, but he hesitated for a moment when he heard my question.

"Ah… it means 'my love'" He put simply, continuing to draw patterns on my back.

I pulled away and looked up at him, watching the dim light from the fire dance on his face—cutting his features into perfect geometric planes.

Even though it was dark, I could see the sparkle in his baby blue eyes.

"I love you." I breathed, and felt tears beginning to form just beneath the surface.

How many days had it been? Three—four? A few days ago he was a stranger that walked into my tavern, and even then I knew there was something about him.

It may have only been a few days, but to me, it felt like a lifetime. And I knew he felt the same.


End file.
